


To Live After Killing

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13039233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: Willow helps Spike adjust to having a soul. Set in season 7 after Spike moves in with Xander. A Willow and Spike friendship fic written for the Which Willow Ficathon, December 2017. Dedicated to velvetwhip/Gabrielle. :o) Miss you much, dear!Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all. (Or maybe Disney does, apparently?)





	To Live After Killing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gabrielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabrielle/gifts).



_“Killing is not so easy as the innocent believe.”  
-JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_

Willow chewed her bottom lip as she headed down the apartment hallway toward her best friend’s place of residence. In a strange parallel to times gone by, Spike was living with Xander – this time in a closet instead of tied to a chair in the basement. Needing to work long hours at one of the construction sites, Xander had recruited her to watch the vampire, who now apparently had a soul that was crippling him instead of only a chip. 

And in another parallel, Willow was feeling vulnerable and insecure again like she felt when Oz left her alone and brokenhearted. This time, Willow was brokenhearted for another reason – multiple reasons in fact. Reasons that she let herself dwell in sometimes but had to force herself to set aside to keep moving forward. Two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes, she felt like she wasn’t progressing at all, and sometimes, like in the moment when she and Buffy meditated together on her bed, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she might be whole again. 

Reaching Xander’s door, Willow clutched the strap of her cross-body satchel with one hand and lightly knocked with the other. 

Before she even finished the gesture, the door flew open. Xander rushed past her, a hard hat slightly askew on his head and his tool belt slung over his shoulder. “Hey, Wil. Thanks for coming.” 

“Hey!” Willow teased. He’d hardly looked at her. For a brief second, her mind and heart slung back to only weeks ago when she couldn’t find her friends and almost got skinned alive and eaten by that creepy, terrifying cave demon. 

Xander turned back and walked backward a few paces. “Sorry, Wil. Duty calls.”

Willow wilted a little, and luckily, Xander caught himself because he rushed forward and swept her up in a bear hug, his strong, familiar arms easing the tension in her heart. When he tried to let go, she pulled him back in, pretending for a moment that they were in a simpler time.

When their embrace ended, Willow commanded, “Go.”

He gave her a little salute and dashed away at a light jog this time. Willow watched him until he hopped down the stairs. Then, she sighed and crossed the threshold into Xander’s living room. The space was eerily quiet, and it was decidedly weird to be in Xander’s home sans Anya. Not that Willow had been in the apartment that often. They’d always tended to have Scoobie meetings at the Magic Box or Buffy’s house. At least, the place smelled decidedly like Xander’s cologne and the leftover pizza he’d heated up probably an hour ago. She only knew it was pizza because the box – a few extra slices congealing in the air – was open on his counter when she entered the kitchen. 

Setting her bag down, she wondered where Spike was. Buffy had sent blood from the butcher with Willow. As she removed the plastic tubs from her bag, she was half-tempted to crack a lid and say, “Here, kitty, kitty.” Instead, she stowed the blood next to the fridge’s sole occupant: a carton of milk. Buffy had been right about Spike needing sustenance. She still didn’t understand the nature of Buffy’s relationship with Spike. Their connection was yet another thing Willow felt guilty about. If she hadn’t championed the mission to bring Buffy back from the dead, if she hadn’t harnessed such dark magic, Buffy would still be safely tucked away in Heaven, and she and Spike would never have. . . 

“Red?” 

Willow almost jumped out of her skin, suddenly realizing that the cold air from the open refrigerator door was raising goosebumps along her bare forearms. She spun, her heart pounding in her chest. She immediately felt silly for her reaction because Spike looked like hell, like he couldn’t hurt her even if he wanted to. His hair was disheveled, his clothes rumpled, his eyes perhaps sad. Her mind flashed back to how despondent he’d been in Xander’s basement when he’d been newly chipped and thought no one was noticing. 

“Spike! Um, hi. How are you?” She waved inanely for half a second and then stuffed the wayward hand in the back pocket of her jeans. “I mean, you’re here in Xander’s closet, so that’s probably not the greatest, but hey, at least, it’s not the weird, creepy school basement.” Okay, Willow. Shut up.

Spike blinked at her as if he wasn’t sure she was there. Willow recognized in that moment that he was really not okay and that her question was out of place. She swallowed and tried again. “Buffy sent blood because she was worried that Xander didn’t stock enough for you. Are you hungry? Would you like me to. . .”

Willow trailed off as Spike moved from the doorway to his hideaway toward her, squinting at the windows as if to ascertain that the blinds all closed the sunlight away. He hesitated at the nonexistent barrier from the living room to the kitchen and ran a hand through his tousled hair. He said nothing for an uncomfortably long time, and Willow swayed a little in the uncertainty. Finally, when she thought she might rabbit away from him, he said softly, “I’ll eat if you do.”

For a second, Willow’s anxious brain thought he meant that he would eat her, but then, the words rearranged as the reality of what he’d said asserted itself. A giggle slipped past her lips, and Spike gave her a funny look, which made the giggle go on a little longer. Then, she bit her cheek and said, “You sit down. I’ll fix you a cup. And heat up the pizza.” 

Spike lifted an eyebrow at the leftover. “A fresh pie would be better.”

“Right!” Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“Harris keeps the pizza coupons in that drawer.” Spike inclined his head.

Willow jerked it open a little too hard, and there on top of a pile of odds and ends were coupons to various take out places, including pizza. As she shuffled through them, her fingers found a Chinese food menu. Her stomach suddenly asserted itself. “How does Chinese sound?” 

“Thought you brought blood.” 

“I did, but Buffy said that sometimes, you like human food, too. A-and I remember that you used to eat with Dawn when you spent time with her that summer when. . .” Willow trailed off again. Spike had really been there for Dawn that summer, and she’d. . . no one had acknowledged it. They’d just taken his presence for granted, and now, now even his relationship with Dawn was ruined. Oddly enough, she felt guilty for that, too.

Spike didn’t respond to Willow’s babbling and eased onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Then, after an awkward amount of silence, he said, “I like Mongolian Beef.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Willow plucked a pen from the drawer and then leaned over the counter across from Spike, sliding the little menu over the smooth surface of the bar. “What else would you like? I’m partial to the General Tso’s.”

Spike smiled, almost like Spike of old. Though if Willow thought about it, he never really smiled, not in a happy sort of way. The only time she remembered seeing him with a genuine smile was around Buffy or maybe Dawn. “Spicy. Fits you, Red.” 

Old Willow, not new-confused-worn-out-Willow-who’d-almost-destroyed-the-world, liked all things spicy, which usually surprised people but apparently not Spike. Now, she wasn’t sure what she liked, but she played along with the vampire’s levity anyway. “Heard you like it, too.” Willow returned his grin. She put a little star next to the Mongolian Beef and General Tso’s Chicken. Then, she handed Spike the pen, and he starred a few more items. In the end, they had a huge list of everything from fried rice to Hot and Sour soup to the extra spicy side sauce. Willow decided that she didn’t give a damn; she needed comfort food, and she imagined that Spike did, too. “I’m going to order all of it,” she announced with her nose in the air.

“Harris keeps money in the cookie jar.” 

“He does?” Of course, he did. He was the guy who hid his allowance or any money he earned in the oddest places because if he chose somewhere obvious, his parents would find and use it to purchase alcohol to fuel their addiction. 

“Didn’t touch it though,” Spike noted. 

Willow wasn’t sure what to make of that comment. Instead, she went to the monkey-shaped jar that Anya had given him, and true to what Spike said, a baggie of money was stashed under a pile of crumbling Chips Ahoy cookies. “Think he’d mind?” When Spike shrugged, Willow continued, “I’ll replace it, but tonight – er, this afternoon, we feast!”

Thirty minutes later, Willow set up the many little boxes in clusters on the breakfast bar. The meats and rice together, the soups together, and the sauces and fortune cookies in a small mountain. She set out plates because she felt like sharing the boxes with Spike might be a little too intimate; she only ever shared boxes with Buffy and Xander and sometimes Tara and Oz. Box share-age implied something more in the relationship than what she and Spike had. 

The door to Xander’s bathroom opened, and Willow startled again. Spike was dressed in jeans and a fresh t-shirt, his hair damp and curly. He’d showered after the food was ordered, almost like he was unsure quite what to do with himself. Willow considered that at least he was showering. She could relate to that; she hadn’t felt like doing much of anything for a long while after she went to England with Giles. The basics were all she could handle when she was at the lowest of the low.

She held up one of the plastic forks and said brightly, “Food’s here!” 

“I can see that,” he said, no emotion in his tone, but Willow swore she saw some warmth in his blue eyes.

“I-I’ll fix you some blood. Sit.” She gestured at the bar stool he’d earlier vacated.

As the vampire eased back in his designated spot, he remained quiet. Willow bustled into the kitchen again with nervous energy, chose a mug from the cabinet, and poured some of the cold blood into the white ceramic. That was going to be fun to clean. While the microwave whirred, she poured herself a glass of water. 

Passing the steaming mug to Spike several seconds later, she noticed that he’d waited for her. Did Spike always have manners or was that part of the soul thing? She slid onto her stool next to him. She offered him another small smile of permission, and they began opening the warm boxes, the scent of Chinese food filling her nose. 

Spike passed her the General Tso’s before breaking apart the cheap wooden chopsticks and diving into his beef. He didn’t bother with his plate.

Willow found herself feeling amused. “Didn’t think you’d use the chopsticks being that they’re sort of wooden and all.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “What can I say? I like to live on the wild side.” 

She snickered and speared a piece of chicken with her fork, the sauce teasing her tongue when she popped it in her mouth. 

They ate in amicable silence for several minutes, passing the boxes back and forth, pausing to drink every now and again. When Spike got up to refill his mug with blood, Willow realized that she was full and leaned over to snag one of the fortune cookies. 

She contemplated the plastic-enclosed cookie that she always thought tasted funny with its vaguely sweet crunch and even vaguer portents of the future. Then, she found herself saying, “I never knew that I was capable of such destruction. I never knew that I was so angry or that I could be so violent. I never knew such guilt until this year.” Spike didn’t say anything as he pulled his mug out of the microwave, so she babbled onward, “So, while I don’t really know what it’s like to get a soul back because I committed murder with a soul. And while I don’t know what it’s like to have done so much killing, I can imagine on some level that what you’re going through is. . . well, awful. And I. . . I’m still not sure some days how I’ll get through them, how I’ll live with what I did. I mean, he was a human being.”

“A human being that killed the person you love,” Spike said softly, not moving from where he was standing. Willow noted that he didn’t mention the soul versus no soul debate. “Makes sense that part of you is still right pissed at him.” After a moment of hesitation, he added, “I’d have done the same. If it’d happened to the person I love.”

Tears filled her eyes then. “Yeah.” Part of her was still very glad that Warren was dead for murdering Tara and almost killing Buffy.

“You lot all have a right to be mad at me. For what I’ve d-done.” His voice slowed as he spoke and then broke on the last word. “Don’t know why I’m not dust.”

Blinking back her tears, Willow thought back over everything Spike had done to them, trying to kill them, kidnapping her, turning all of them against each other, stalking Buffy, and more. But then, he’d done so much to help, too. Help they never really acknowledged because he was a vampire – because he wasn’t Angel. Well, Xander spearheaded the denigrate-Spike-initiative with the official Scoobie memo and everything. She’d gone along with it even if it made her a little uncomfortable even back then. “You did a lot of good for us, too, you know.”

His shoulders slumped as he fell against the edge of the cabinet behind him, steaming mug tipping precariously in his hand. “What? What did I do? I tried to save Buffy, but I-I ruined it. Hurt the g – Her.”

Willow thought back to what Buffy had finally confessed to her when they’d really talked that day after meditating. She’d told Willow about how she’d started sleeping with Spike, about the pain she’d been in and how Spike had tried to help but she had been too messed up to get it, about how they’d ended up hurting each other, and about the church and Spike’s confession. Buffy said she wasn’t sure about how she felt about Spike fighting for a soul; she was even more confused about how she felt about him doing it for her. But Willow believed deep in her heart that Buffy still had feelings for Spike. . . the same way Tara still had feelings for her despite all Willow had done to violate her. “What you did was realize what you were doing, and you went against your entire nature to do something no other vampire’s ever done.”

Spike shook his head, still not making eye contact. “Undeserved accolades.” 

Willow set her jaw, determined to convince him because maybe that might help her convince herself. “If I can be forgiven, you can be forgiven.” 

Spike met her eyes then. Willow wasn’t the only one with a stubborn streak. “Different with me. I have over a century of wrongs. Murdering for jollies.”

“But you don’t have a century of wrongs with us.” That was a difference, at least in Willow’s mind.

“I touch her, and she flinches.” Spike winced, gaze shifting away again. “All I do is keep hurting her.” 

“But you’ll show her. You’ll show her that you’re different.” Willow didn’t know if she wanted Buffy and Spike to be together, not after what happened with Angel. Willow was no longer sure how Buffy felt about Angel. Buffy hadn’t mentioned him for over a year.

“Am I? Different?” Spike sounded genuinely doubtful.

Willow drew the parallel between them again. “Am I different? I mean, I went off to England with Giles. I studied with the coven there. I understand my abuse of magic, of power. I see the damage I caused my friends by trying to kill them. Am I different because I see all that? At the end of the day, I’m still a murderer even if I didn’t destroy the world.”

“Killing changes a person.” 

Willow nodded. “It does. Changes them a lot. The nightmares are bad.” She shuddered.

“They are at that.” 

Then, Willow set her shoulders and met his eyes with an unwavering gaze. “But does it mean my life has to end? That yours does? For me to keep going, I have to believe that there’s good in me; I have to be one hundred percent certain that I won’t slip over into the darkness again.”

“No such thing as a hundred percent certain.” 

Spike was right. “I know. So, I just have to keep trying. Every day, sometimes every moment. Other people forgiving you and believing in you helps a lot, especially on the dark days. When the guilt is overwhelming.” 

“I’ve had that bit. . . the forgiveness bit twice.” 

“Buffy,” Willow guessed. 

He nodded once, his hands finding the tile counter behind him. Willow thought he seemed to be a little sturdier until he fumbled with the next words. “Not for this latest. . .” He turned his head, his gaze seemingly landing nowhere. “For the ‘bot.”

“When you protected Dawn from Glory.”

“Yeah.”

Fidgeting with the edge of the plastic wrapper, Willow wondered who the other person was and decided it didn’t matter because she realized something in that moment. “If it helps, I forgive you.” Willow had always been quick to forgive, quick to want to ease others’ pain. Hurting other people broke her heart, and seeing other people in pain hurt her, too. She thought of something that her coven sister had told her. “I hope that you find a way to show yourself the same compassion you’ve shown to others.” 

Little moments Willow knew about flitted through her mind. Buffy had told her that he’d been incredibly gentle and kind right after she dug her way out of her grave. He’d brought those flowers for Joyce with no card, and he’d shown Dawn such patience when Buffy died. Dawn had been devastated, and truth be told, Spike was the only one who could coax a smile out of her, however brief, in the early days. 

Another thought popped into Willow’s head. “I wish I had handled my heartbreak the way you did. Somehow, you turned it around in the middle. I-I just kept going after I killed Warren. I would have destroyed the world if not for Xander. But you hurt Buffy, and you left town. You went off to become a better man, someone who wouldn’t hurt the ones he loved so much.” Like Oz. Maybe, just maybe like she did, despite how far she took things.

Willow saw a tear slide over Spike’s cheek and decided that she’d pushed enough. She suddenly felt exhausted, and it was only five o’clock. “Want to watch something on TV?”

Spike turned under the guise of heating his blood a little longer, trying to surreptitiously swipe the tear from his cheek. “The telly’s on the fritz. He dropped the cable. Probably an attempt to torment me.”

Willow laughed despite herself. “Probably.”

He shrugged. “Had them turn it back on.”

She laughed and swung off the stool, leaving the cookie behind. Locating the TV remote beneath a pillow, she plopped on the sofa, dragging the cushion into her lap. Spike joined her shortly, and they were ironically soon caught up in a true crime marathon. It made Willow feel less alone. 

In one commercial break, she glanced over at Spike who lounged a fair distance away. He caught her watching and gave her that same genuine smile. 

“Thanks, Red.”

“You’re welcome, Spike. Anytime.” Willow was still smiling as their show came back on; she had a feeling that they’d be talking again. 

The end.


End file.
